Asleep or Dead?
by EverAce
Summary: 2P FACE! Allen has no idea what changed. Why did things change? Why did he change? (Unintentional eating disorder, depression, and nightmares. Rated T for now.)
1. Chapter 1

It was Al's turn to gather "ingredients" for Oliver's new cupcake recipe. Cupcakes. He can't stand the sugary stuff himself, there's milk, and eggs in the mixture. It just wouldn't do for a strict vegan.

'At least Ollie isn't asking for any animals' he thought to himself as he grabbed the keys for his truck. Human Crooks he would collect willingly, and today he had a bone to pick with a fellow who hadn't paid him back. But adorable, innocent animals? That would be too cruel. Oliver had only asked for human blood, but Alfred was already planning on getting his revenge anyways.

Besides, what was he supposed to do? Set up a donor van for the good of twisted bakeries? Haha.. No.

Once he pulled up at the said human's house, he pulled out his bat from the back seat and snuck to the back door. The doors were unlocked, what a surprise. He wouldn't have to bust a lock this time. He heard someone speak, but the second voice was too distant to make out. The young man put his bat against the wall and cuffed his ear to the wood. The criminal was on the phone with someone. Al listened closely, as the conversation was on speaker. A few seconds later, he got the gist of the call. Planning to flee the town, eh? Too late.

Right as he turned to pick up his bat again, the door clicked open. The victim in question's eyes went wide as he recognized the armed man.

Al gave his coined intimidating smirk. "Six months. That was our deal. And how long has it been now?" he said with feigned curiosity. The man hesitantly murmured that it had been over a year. "Bingo. Got the cash, Mac?"

Al cornered two goons into a dead end alley. Despite the fact that Al had the upper hand, the duo continued to insult him. All of the insults seemed petty, until he had his bat ready for impact. "Haha, bet you won't put a dent on our heads." The crook smirked. "So you're going to eat us when it's all over, huh? Dunk us in lard?" That one bothered Al a bit to be honest. But he faked a grin and retorted "Nah, I don't eat meat."

Al drove home, three jerks in the backseat. He entered the house to find Matt sprawled out on the couch who greeted him with a smirk. "Two and a half hours, Al? It shouldn't take THAT long to take three targets down." The Red-eyed American clenched his teeth, face burning with anger. Matt just chuckled. "What a dumba-"

Oliver who was in the kitchen stopped him with a nasty glare, his eyes bouncing from Matt, to the Swear Jar on top of the fridge. Matt sighed, and reached for the TV remote. Allen tossed the kills in the basement and began to jog up stairs. Al could have sworn he heard Matt mutter insults about 'Stupid, Fat, Americans.' He just shook his head.

His room was just as he'd left it. Posters of the American flag, a dart board covered with pictures he found of his many war enemies. He shivered just looking at them, and leaped onto his Eagle bed sheets. An hour later he heard his name being called from downstairs. He hurried down, not wanting to be yelled at further.

Francis was sitting dazed in his chair lighting up a smoke, expressionless as always. Oliver was humming a somewhat familiar tune. Matt, who had just set the table sat, waiting for the others to join him.

Everyone dug in right away. The other three boys wouldn't show it, but they loved their brother's cooking. Oliver knew, however, and gave a delighted smile. He loved watching his family eat. Not in a creepy way of course, but there were times in the past where there hadn't always been enough food for them.

Oliver had to contain his shiver at the thought, and put a fork full of potatoes in his mouth. He would never forget these times, no matter how hard he tried.

******He loved his family. He'd make and sell cupcakes forever if it meant they were safe.**


	2. Chapter 2

Al woke up sweating, and ran from his room to the bathroom in the hall. He emptied his stomach, and slid on the tile floor. What... was that? 'You're such a wimp!' his dark side bashed. 'These dreams you have? Stupid. You're stupid.' They've never been that bad before... 'If your brothers knew about them they'd think you're weak. They'd leave you. No one can ever know.'

At that moment, Oliver called the younger boys of the house from the kitchen. Al slowly picked himself up, quickly brushed his teeth, and stumbled down stairs.

"Ollie, it's Saturday. What the fu- I mean frick." Matt complained. Oliver sighed, and gestured to the calendar. The boys looked at the date and realized that it was March 1st. Every three months for the past few years, Ollie insisted that he gave them all a physical exam. They could only get medical treatment if absolutely necessary, and the sweets baker was paranoid when it came to the boys' health. The older brother pulled out "borrowed" equipment, and moved towards the younger nations.

The boys groaned as Oliver began to rap monitors on their wrists. After a few moments the boy took note that both their blood pressure and heart rates were normal. He pulled out measuring tape, even though he already knew that Al was 5'9, and 5'8 and He examined them both and had them remove their shirts. Both seemed healthy, he decided as he checked for any damaged organs.

Then the scale was brought out. Matt stepped on and the numbers 143.1 registered. He hopped off and Al took his place. 151.3. They were perfect, as they always were. Oliver smiled, relieved. They put their shirts back on and Oliver kissed them both on the top of their heads as he went to his study.

When he was out of hearing range Matt uttered "Well that wasn't creepy at all." Al chuckled and nodded in agreement. "It's almost scary how protective he is." Matt continued. "Who needs four exams a year?" Al shook his head. "I dunno, but if it'll get Ollie to chill out..." he drawled. The boys then went their separate ways for their work.

He could hear screaming and crying, piercing unidentified noises. He could hear Matt's voice: Cheering, Demanding his death. More screaming. Blood.

Oliver appeared. "A cupcake for you, poppet." he said with a sick smirk. He shoved a cupcake into Al's mouth and his entire stomach filled with fire. Acid spilled into his veins, racing until it reached his core. He could feel his insides melting while Oliver laughed...

When he woke up the real Matt was at his door and Al jumped when he saw him. "Dinner's ready, jerk." he insulted, watching out for wild Swear Jars. "Matt, I'm not very... hungry. I ate earlier." The Canadian gave him a strange, confused look. He hadn't seen Al eat a thing all evening. "Suit yourself." he shrugged and returned to the kitchen. Al didn't know why, but he really couldn't eat anything. Nothing at all.

Francis was at the table reading the paper, silently drinking beer. Oliver was happily cooking. Matt re-entered the dinning room. "Al says he's not hungry." he stated as he sat back down at the table, Oliver was very puzzled. "Not hungry? He was out working all day...?" He questioned.

"He said he ate something earlier, but he's been napping all afternoon. He even looked a bit spooked when I woke him up." Oliver was a bit worried. Al never skipped out on dinner. The young man didn't eat much in the first place, but he always ate something. 'Al is just fine' he reasoned 'You checked him just this morning. He was perfectly fine. It's just one meal...'

Dinner continued.

When they finished, Oliver cleaned the dishes and went up stairs to check on Al. The English man couldn't help but worry, his instincts flashing on.

He cracked open the door and found the America asleep. 'Are these...tears?' Oliver frowned. Reaching out, he softly wiped the liquid away from his eyes. Ollie didn't know what to do, or what to think. He sat next to Al until the tearing ceased.

'What's wrong with my Baby Brother...?"

_He could see Francis in his rocking chair on the porch. He shook his head, and burned Al with his cigarette. Al couldn't move as Francis grabbed him by the neck and branded him with awful words._

When Al woke up, he immediately tried to sneak out before anyone could question him. With his kill list in hand, he tiptoed through the halls. Right as he reached the door, Oliver tapped his shoulder, tilting his head in confusion. His blue eyes fogged up with concern. "Al, I went to check on you last night. You were... tearing up. Are you alright?" Al burned red and wasn't sure how he could convince Ollie that he was fine. He couldn't tell him about the nightmares, so he lied. "Oh, right. Before I fell asleep, I tried to take out my contacts, but they were stuck. Guess they watered a bit."

"O-okay. Well, let's get you some breakfast. You'll need the energy for all the kills you'll be taking today-"

"Actually Ollie, I'm not very hungry right now."

"But...you didn't have dinner yesterday...?" He frowned.

"Yeah, but I had something to eat last night." he gave his most convincing face "I just don't want to be weighed down. I've got important business."

Oliver was conflicted and concerned, but gave in. He always had trouble negotiating with his younger brother. Besides, Al would definitely be home for dinner. He'd be sure of that.

Al was confused as well. Why was he even doing this? What is this about? That dark side of him was telling him that he was a burden. That they would prefer him to be less needy. What is that even supposed to mean? Before he could think of anything else to say, Oliver interrupted his thoughts.

"Just- You'll have lunch right? Protein, Fruits, Vegetables, enough calories to get you through?" He rambled.

"...You're such a worry wart. I'll be fine. I'll see you later."

He ran off before the other could reply.

Yes. Oliver was a bit creepy in this chapter, but it's his way of caring, haha. Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

It was six o'clock in the afternoon when Al finished his work. He drove home to drop everything off before anyone else could get home, and left his truck behind as he headed out again. After jogging for a while, he found a tree and slung himself under it. He hoped his brothers wouldn't be able to find him here, he really didn't want to go home and face them yet.

He took his jacket and glasses off. 'Face what?' His good side pondered. 'You haven't done anything wrong...?' Al wasn't sure what was going on with him. Why is he acting this way? It's so stupid. And weak, and-.

Al wanted his mind to shut up already. He took his bat, and in anger started swinging. In the spur of the moment, he didn't realize he didn't have anything to swing at until it was too late. The impact of the nailed bat and his arm drew blood. Al dropped the bat immediately and his eyes rifted to his busted limb.

The lower half of his arm, closer to his hand remained untouched. It was his upper arm that he found alarming. The nails had pierced his skin in several places. His tanned skin was now blemished. Red liquid rose from the surface.

His brothers were going to kill him.

'They don't have to know' he told himself 'HIDE IT!' He pulled gauze out of his bag and didn't bother disinfecting it before he wrapped his arm. Once it was secure, he was unsure of whether he should wear his bomber jacket in case it stained. He ran home, and when he arrived, climbed to his bedroom window and slammed it open.

He had to be quick. If they didn't see him walk through the door they'd be suspicious. His closet was already open, and his gray hoodie was right there. He leaped for it and threw it on before jumping back out the window and sliding to the ground. On the way down his hoodie rid up and he cut his side on a rough edge of the house. Al cringed. Great. Another cut. He mentally face palmed.

When he got to the front door Oliver was already preparing dinner. Al could see him happily cooking, but every few seconds he would look out the window with a seemingly worried expression. Allen sighed and checked to make sure his arms were completely covered up. Oliver beat him to the door handle and pulled him inside.

Al put on his usual irritated mask even though he really didn't feel like himself at all. Oliver fell for it however and took the expression as a good sign as he pulled Al to the couch before he could lock himself in his room or leave again.

Oliver finished his cooking with his eye on the American. When dinner was ready, he grabbed Al by the waist and dragged him to the table, placing him in the chair next to his.

Oliver brought out plates of chicken and rice for everyone, with the exception of Al, who had Tofu on his plate to substitute. Francis and Matt started right away. The Englishman gave Al a demanding nod to eat, but the red eyes boy just stirred food around the plate with his fork.

"So... How was everyone's day?" A lit up Oliver asked. There were murmurs of "Good." And "Fine." in reply. Oliver wasn't quite satisfied though, so he tried to start conversation. "Last night I dreamed that the town all joined together for tea! It was so nice!" He giggled. "Did any of you have dreams?" Al's face turned white as a sheet. Oliver saw it right away, before the color returned, and was confused. He made a mental note to ask him about it later. Al regained his composure and the three boys shook their heads, continuing.

Allen tried to eat. He really, really did, but even a few grains of rice alarmed his nerves, threatening him with bile. Oliver Kirkland looked over to Allen and noticed that he hadn't taken a single proper bite. The rice had been stirred to seem like he had eaten some, but the older brother knew that he was not mistaken. Francis and Matt took no notice. The Baker had to call him out on it.

"Al?"

Allen turned to his brother with slight Alarm. "Yeah...?"

Oliver laced his fingers for his chin to rest upon. "Are you alright, love?"

Allen's face bursted into the brightest red, and he covered his eyes with his hand before looking back. "Yes _brother_... I'm just fine." he said through his teeth.

Oliver was in no way convinced. "Take a bite poppet, I made it just for you." He smiled with concern. Matt burst out laughing, and Oliver shot him a nasty glare which silenced him.

Poppet.

_Poppet._

He tried to ignore the phrase and moaned in feigned annoyance. "I'm fine Oliver, I'm just fine. Not hungry."

Ollie placed his hand over the boy's forehead, which was immediately slapped off by the strong boy. Oliver sent a short aurora of hurt. Al sighed. "I'm sorry Oliver. You know I love your cooking-"

"This is not about my cooking Allen..." He Interrupted. "I'm just a tad worried. What did you have for lunch?"

Allen racked his brain for an answer. Some sort of food he could say he had that afternoon, that would make Ollie's worries go away. He hesitated though, and the boy who loved to bake's eyes went wide, sadness filling the blue. He looked back in shock, Francis and Matt were confused as well. Oliver gave the other two a look as if to say "Please leave the room for a moment." They nodded and left without complaint . Al wanted to make up an excuse,to say he had simply forgotten, but when he opened his mouth, a spoonful of rice was forced in.

Al's face went green as the food reached his stomach. It was like his dream-! No...no! He didn't even notice that Oliver was still spoon feeding him till the fourth or fifth bite. He shut his mouth right away and glared daggers at his blue eyed brother. Imaginary eye lasers shot around the room, and he ran to the upstairs bathroom, feeling sick. Oliver called him back with obvious concern and stirred up emotion.


End file.
